


His Accompaniment

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Play Caregiver Crowley (Good Omens), Age Play Little Aziraphale (Good Omens), Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Injury, Cherubim, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Age Play, Shapeshifting, Thumb-sucking, Worldbuilding, not actually age play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Aziraphale has been promoted to the Cherubim in Heaven after showing his 'defensive prowess' during his trial and failed execution. He should be happy, but the pros definitely don't outweigh the cons of the situation.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	1. The Promotion

"I've been promoted, Crowley!" Aziraphale's smile conveyed surprise and worry simultaneously. "A promotion!" He reiterated.

Crowley was paying attention, or was he staring? Aziraphale was beautiful no matter what form he took, but he much rather liked Aziraphale's previous true form. Just like the old true form, the new one had lots of warm light exuding from it, a series of beautiful blue eyes, lengths of luxurious fabric he'd had the pleasure to be wrapped in for a warm embrace. Now he appeared to be mimicking a three-headed hellhound, a bull's head jutting out between his neck and shoulderblade on one side, and a lion's head from the other. The body had a more solid form, the lion motif making up the front of the four legged base and the bull the back end. Aziraphale's human face still held onto the reality Crowley found himself searching for.

"Just below the higher ups, yeah?" Crowley recalled the hierarchy, taking a sip of cocoa that Aziraphale had miracled for him. The angel much preferred to do such things the human way, but big ol' lion paws were very difficult to work with. "Did they say what for?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure, but I'm sure it's thanks to you. You gave them quite the scare when the hellfire failed to kill me. Perhaps they feel I deserve more respect after six thousand-some years." Aziraphale still spoke with worry, as if he didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "Res...pect."

Crowley wasn't convinced either. Even though he was a demon, he didn't forget what being an angel was like. He also knew things that Aziraphale probably wasn't in a good mental state to remember. "You wanna sit down for a bit, angel? Lay down, maybe?"

Aziraphale had looked unsteady, which wasn't abnormal. He'd been extending and retracting his claws nervously, while his back hooves fidgeted as if wanting to charge, but not having the strength to do so. "Y-yes, that would be quite lovely." He carefully lowered himself to the floor, then flopped onto his side without the grace he'd hoped for. Any and all powerful auras he'd been projecting were gone in that moment. "This is much more uncomfortable."

"Any closer and that bookshelf would have sandwiched you against the floor." Crowley sauntered over. "A cherub, huh?"

"Yes, I'm surprised you remembered!" Aziraphale let an uneasy chuckle out.

"Don't normally see them on earth, angel. Not without accompaniment."

"Such as a heavenly chorus?"

"No, not quite. Good guess." Crowley knelt down beside his beastly buddy and distributed even pettings and scritches to the three noggins now laying against his lanky lap. "I think you know why, angel."

"I don't think I recall what you mean."

"Terrible liar." Crowley murmured, mussing with the silky mane of Aziraphale's lion head. "Your bookshop will cease to be a bookshop if you don't put -this- away." The demon gestured to the whole of Aziraphale's true form lying in the middle of the shop.

"...I'm not ready yet." Aziraphale admitted.

"I had a feeling. You can't stay this way for much longer. One, you'll attract unwanted attention, and I know how much you despise that. Two, you'll actually become fatigued. Three, your higher ups are apparently still your higher ups, and they won't like that you'll attract unwanted attention, giving them reason to come _visit_..."

"I know, I know!" Aziraphale whined. "But after what I saw, I can't! I just can't. _It's not fair!_ " He sobbed.

Crowley flashed half of a toothy grin. "So things haven't changed much for the cherubim. Met a few before my fall. Honestly, would have guessed you to be one, back then." He brushed Aziraphale's cheek with the delicate touch of his slender fingers.

"I don't have accompaniment, Crowley." Aziraphale admitted. "If I need things, I have to go back." His breath hitched and his face fell. Crowley had never observed his angel crying before. Ever.

"Aziraphale." Anger flared up inside the demon, but also something else. "No Aziraphale. You don't have to go back."

"But I do!" Aziraphale sniffled. "Crowley, I will not put you through that! The...the things...they're not as bad while we're in heaven, and if I don't eat or drink, it's even better!"

"Angel! Stop that, right now." Crowley raised his voice, and the cherub timidly cowered before him. "Angel." He then relaxed his tone, knowing he had his angel's attention, and pet his blonde locks once more. "They want to separate us."

"I know." Aziraphale whispered, a harsh snuffle following.

"They want to separate you from me and everything about the Earth that you love. Yes, cherubim are bloody amazing, they helped guard Eden alongside you, and you'd get to help Her--"

"But she hasn't given them orders in centuries, they said." Aziraphale whispered. "They all just sit around...and they-"

"So they want you to stay there, where you'll have accompaniment and fewer worries." And pretty much be imprisoned. Crowley frowned, watching Aziraphale pedal his paws slowly and shiver. "Come on, angel. Take the form that's most comfortable for you."

"I have no accompaniment!"

"Bull! Er, sorry. That's rubbish." Crowley growled.

"How so!?"

"Because you have me!" He announced. "I'm your accompaniment!" And quite frankly, despite the long periods of separation they used to have over time, he was still with Aziraphale more than anyone else. "I will still be your accompaniment."

Aziraphale looked into Crowley's eyes. How nice it was to see them in the privacy of the shop. To see the intensity and the love in them (even if Crowley denied it). He found warmth and safety in those amber orbs.

"Very well," he sighed, not ready but going forward with it anyway. In a flash of light, he was in his human form again, naked and fidgeting until he found comfort by sinking his fingertips between his lips and sucking on them. He shivered and leaned against the couch, silent tears rolling down his chubby cheeks. He wasn't ready.

Crowley had expected something much smaller, really. The cherubim had often taken smaller forms on Earth and in heaven for convenience. Really, it was a devious trick to look like a child and then transform into nightmarish chimera angel and eliminate one's enemies.

"You did it, angel. Look, all back to normal." Crowley offered an encouraging smile. "My sweet angel, aren't you cold? We could go upstairs, get you in a cozy fleece nightie, some protective underthings. And I just so happen to know how to miracle up a decadent dark chocolate cup of cocoa."

Aziraphale seemed deep in thought over the offer. To have Crowley be his accompaniment...would be a dream. But did he know what he was getting into? Cherubim were so emotional and needy. They needed Her there to be at their best. And well...being in heaven was the closest they could have for now. He would need even more support on Earth.

"Up we go." Crowley had taken the initiative to scoop him up into his arms. For a lanky-looking demon, Crowley was strong. Perhaps not as strong as the Prince of Hell or a demonic duke, but up there. He waited to see if Aziraphale would protest, but the angel found that it was comforting to be held and cradled. "That's a boy." He rubbed noses with Aziraphale, and the angel let out a sweet and very angelic giggle. "We've got this angel. You're rather lucky to have the Original Tempter as your accompaniment."

Aziraphale smiled, a bit of calm returning to him. "I am. I love you so much, Crowley." That would never change.

"I know what's needed of me. You think Nanny just got off lucky with Master Warlock? I'm the best caregiver in all of Hell."

Aziraphale's confidence continued to grow, but his energy waned. It took a lot to maintain his true form that afternoon. He simply chuckled behind his smile, nuzzling Crowley's shoulder.

"Ah, yes. Clothes, cocoa, and naptime. There'll be no fussing about it. You need your rest, angel dear." Crowley expected some fight. Cherubim were playful and mischievous. But Aziraphale found that plan to be simply divine, even coming from a demon.


	2. An Early Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new classification, a new dynamic, and a new bed.

Aziraphale had never experienced true fatigue enough to remember just how much it ravaged his corporation. There were lots of workarounds for his human body that he could use when he was a principality, being able to send all the delightful edibles and beverages he consumed to the void, where that unneeded energy would either return to its previous form or become something new to yield from the earth in its simplest atomic components. He could also go without sleep, which left lots of time for wonderful things like reading and hobbies.

Staying on the earth as one of the cherubim, his corporation required the energy from food and drink, and he needed to sleep so it could recharge and, if necessary, heal maladies. Principalities and other types of angels were equipped for survival on the earth. Cherubim only descended with Her, or archangels. They were like angelic mobile chargers as the cherubs had little need to be away from heaven.

As Crowley carried Aziraphale up the stairs, the exhausted angel turned towards the demon and took comfort in the closeness. The demon's familiar smell was accented from a single spray of cologne, and the wine he'd been sipping on earlier whenever he spoke.

Crowley, on the other hand, was full of renewed energy. He worried if maybe he pushed the offer too quickly (any chance to foil Gabriel's attempts to make his angel miserable was quite satisfying). He wondered if Aziraphale knew what he was getting into by staying on earth. But he knew, not matter what, Aziraphale was not going to get by on his own anymore, no matter where he chose to stay. That possibility threatened disaster and trouble.

Aziraphale was strong, that was true. He would be even stronger with food and rest. Sometimes Crowley wondered if he just didn't know his own strength after so much time passing. Exciting and frightful things happened on earth, but rarely did Aziraphale need to lift a finger aside from casting a miracle or two. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate definitely earned his place in Eden's detail.

But Aziraphale was also very timid, especially around Gabriel, and especially being alone with him (and likely other archangels). The angel wished he had been able to see exactly what happened to Crowley during the attempted execution, but in the end it was better to be safe. To be alive.

"Just you and me now, angel. That's how it's supposed to be. That's how it's gonna be." He stressed. "Nothing you need to worry about. Don't even need to stay up, I've got it all taken care of."

"I'm not wo-...I don't know. I'm so overwhelmed."

"Angel." Crowley lowered his voice, but only a touch.

"You won't disappear?"

"I will be with you." He repeated. 

Crowley stepped into the angel's bedroom and shook his head with a groan. He should have expected as much. "Angel, this isn't a bedroom. This is another reading room."

"It is, too, a bedroom!" Aziraphale indignantly whined against Crowley's chest. "I keep many of my most personal items here!" Most of those were books, obviously, which explained all the shelves.

"It's missing the very thing that makes it one. Where is your bed?"

"I sleep on the couch if I must sleep. You know that."

"A couch is for an unexpected guest at best. You sit on it. You need a bed." Crowley took a look around the room, looking for things to work with. Aziraphale deserved a nice bed. He wouldn't sleep well if it was just any old miracled bed. He spotted a soft cushioned office chair, a desk, and lots of bookshelves. He would need to get creative, though he wasn't sure if it would be a successful venture in the end.

Aziraphale had started to nod off, but startled when Crowley snapped his fingers. The room rumbled just slightly, and when the angel gave the space another look, in the place of several bookcases and the office set was a beautiful canopy covered king-sized bed, with bookshelves in the headboard and along the sides. The mattress and the linen set matched the pattern of the chair cushions. It was the perfect bed for the bibliophile. He could simply reach above or beside him and grab a favorite book.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale felt like a child on Christmas morning. "It's wonderful."

"Now you can call it a bedroom." He lowered his naked angel on top of the bed upon his back, thumbing away the leftover tears sitting in the corner of his puffy eyes. "Soft, yeah? Like lying on a giant purple teddy bear with a pink bowtie?"

"That's awfully specific." Aziraphale murmured. "But yes. I think it will be very comfortable." He smiled back at Crowley, still sleepy but in a better mood. It really was quite comfortable. He could fall asleep right where he was and not mind one bit.

It was too bad that Crowley had only just gotten started with his care. Sleep would have to wait just a bit longer. "And to make sure we don't ruin your lovely new bed, let's get that cute bum into a fresh nappy."

"O-oh." Protective underthings. Apparently his demon wasn't joking about those. 

"I can miracle whatever's inside my gut empty, quite sure you can't if She's not in the vicinity." Crowley explained. "Promotion, my arse." The demon muttered, forever angry at the archangels.

Aziraphale really didn't want to ruin the bed. Crowley had made it special for him. He knew how human urination worked, at least in the most basic means. Customers would excuse themselves, go to the water closet, sit on the toilet, wash their hands (oh someone, did he hope they washed their hands, there were so many awful germs lingering around that would make them sick, and he did not want those on his precious tomes), and return to whatever it was they were looking at. But beyond that, he didn't know what to expect as far as it actually happening to himself. 

"Very well. I know we're...well...but nothing funny about this, please." 

"Of course, angel. Nobody but the two of us will know." The demon smiled fondly as Aziraphale failed to hold in another yawn.

Though Crowley had miracled several items to sit beside his angel and aid in his work, dressing Aziraphale took little effort, and it brought back memories of readying Warlock to bed, except that Warlock wasn't a human adult in size and stature at the time. Aziraphale had done his part to make things easier for Crowley too, though by the time the demon sat Aziraphale up, the angel leaned forward against him abruptly and rested his chin on his shoulder.

Crowley was surprised, but he turned to kiss the side of his angel's head. "Love you too, angel. Angel?" Aziraphale didn't answer back, but a loud rumbling sound escaped through his nose. "Heh. Still got this all taken care of." 

The good thing about the nightgown was that it just needed to go over his sleeping angel's head. Crowley carefully maneuvered Aziraphale's arms into the sleeves, the beginnings of a dumb smile on his face. Could he have used more demonic miracles? Absolutely. But there would be far fewer times to cuddle and hug him to keep him sat up.

Somehow, Aziraphale was even cuter when he was sleeping. Even cuter in actual pajamas and mussed up hair. But the fatigue proved for sure that Aziraphale needed alternate sources of energy while on earth now.

"Definitely time for bed. But I don't think we'll have any trouble with that, will we, angel?" He whispered, hoisting the angelic body into place on the bed. He settled him to his left, and pulled the fresh new linens over his love. Crowley, too, readied himself for bed in the blink of an eye, a set of fleece pajamas in a stylish dark grey replacing his tight denim and leathers. Aziraphale was already quite warm when he slipped beneath the covers, and Crowley snuggled up behind him and sighed contently. He was quite confident they would be just fine even if Aziraphale was a cherub.

At least until morning arrived.


	3. Panic at the Bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes missing, Crowley goes hissing.

"Mmmmmmmmnn."

Crowley admitted to himself that he could and would definitely get used to snuggling up with Aziraphale in bed every night. Perhaps even for naps during the day? He certainly loved to laze about in warm spaces, as any cold-blooded demon might. He could even call it work-related, had he still been working for hell. He'd had them scared stiff from the holy water stunt and everyone found it best to just leave him be. It wasn't like they found out all of his horrible temptations and chaos-crafting were actually done by the humans themselves.

He was in-between sleep and consciousness, rolling towards Aziraphale's spot on the bed, searching for his angel so that he could snuggle him more. He wrapped boney fingers around a part of his nightie and purred, but something wasn't quite right. He kept rolling closer on what felt like an endless mattress until he rolled right out of bed, taking half of the bedsheets down with him to the floor.

He hissed angrily against the polished wood, briefly assuming his hated snake form to escape the twists and slither free. But before he returned to his human form, he took a peek back at the bed. Aziraphale's nightgown was on the bed, but his angel was long gone.

He shapeshifted back as he passed through the doorway, a scowl curling his facial features as he began his search for Aziraphale. Had Gabriel come to take him back against his will? He wouldn't have that. Aziraphale was not going to live in captivity for the rest of eternity, not if he had anything to do about it.

"Angel?!" He called out. "Angel, where are you?" His worries multiplied each time his calls went unanswered.

The search upstairs yielding no additional clues, he shuffled down the stairs and quickly scoured the bookshop area, thinking of what his next move should be if Aziraphale truly was gone.

"Angel?"

Maybe Aziraphale was hungry? The kitchen was the last place to look (though really, it should have been the first), and as things seemed to work, that was where he discovered more clues to the cherub's disappearance. The cupboards were all opened, several boxes and tins of food had been scattered about, and there were two broken angel-winged mugs in puddles of water on the floor.

"Looks like a hellhound ransacked the place." Crowley thought out loud, scratching his head. But there was still no sign of Aziraphale. However, there was a sign of something else.

A sack of confectioner's sugar and a canister of cocoa powder had been overturned all over the floor, and there were small humanoid footprints in the spilled powders. Crowley had expected a trail, but after following it, it stopped abruptly a few feet ahead. Dogs and hellhounds did not fly, and there were no magic circles or runes left to allow them to do so, or to just flat out disappear into the void.

"The he-...What in the blazes happened here? Aziraphale?" Crowley called again. "Damn the archangels, damn that smug bastard Gabriel! If you hurt a single hair on my angel, I'm going to--"

The sound of something heavy crashing to the floor from above set him on the attack path, dark wings briefly materializing to push him forward. He moved faster than before, a powerful jump and glide carrying him back upstairs and into another room filled with books.

Books and crying.

Crying?

Crowley calmed when he spotted an overturned bookshelf lying on the floor, its contents trapped beneath. Aziraphale had just started to fill this one after rescuing it from a yard sale that Anathema had told them about in Tadfield. But books did not cry unless they were possessed, and most demons weren't dumb enough to possess a book. (You could be ripped apart, or, even worse, doused in holy water, and be discorporated or even killed!)

He snapped his fingers, closing the door to the room and causing the bookshelf to stand back up, leaving rows of books on the floor.

And a very tiny winged being.

A tiny angel, to be more precise. Buck naked and lying on his stomach, with wisps of blonde hair. Crying.

"Aziraphale!?" Crowley's brain had put two and two together, and he hoped this was Aziraphale. (The only other possibility was another cherub, and if so, they weren't leaving until he got answers.)

It was alright though, because the little cherub had stopped crying out, and lifted his arms up pathetically with big, wet, stormy blue eyes. One wing fluttered excitedly, while the other limply twitched.

"Aziraphale." Crowley repeated softly, grateful he'd found his angel but also surprised to see him in his other form. "I appreciate the attempt to make breakfast, but maybe you should leave that to me for at least a few days." He hugged the angel close, dusting the sugar off of his bottom and feet until Aziraphale winced. "Oh, are you hurt?" Aziraphale nodded, his eyes watering up again. His right wing still twitched uncomfortably. "Ugh, what a mess."

The demon's disgust seemed to trigger even more tears, and Aziraphale began to weep again, burying his face against Crowley's shoulder. He felt simply awful. He couldn't even be a proper cherubim. Everything he tried to do resulted in disaster, and what was worse was that he couldn't even tell Crowley what happened. (Thankfully, Crowley could piece together a close-enough explanation just by seeing what occurred.)

"Hey now, what's all the waterworks for? I told you you're going to be okay. I'm your accompaniment, right?" He held Aziraphale by his sides and up in the air. "Can you turn back into your human form?" He asked, kneeling down and helping Aziraphale to stand, though it seemed the angel wasn't used to standing and walking at this size. His little feet turned inward, and he was quite wobbly. "Oh right. Cherubim don't normally walk." And with an injured wing, Aziraphale was literally grounded.

Aziraphale was ready to shed another batch of tears, this time babbling up a storm.

"Whoa, whoa, angel! I don't know what you're saying!" Crowley knew that Aziraphale's babble was just complicated angelic language and not gibberish, but he only knew angelic common, so only a few words made sense to him. Cherubim had their own natural language that only they and the hierachy above them understood fluently.

"But we'll figure it out, can't be too hard? Like having a sore throat?" Aziraphale had never had a sore throat, so he was still very concerned. "Alright, how about, well, maybe we should try some sort of yes-and-no style of communication."

Aziraphale nodded. 

"Oh! There. You nod for yes, shake your head for no. Got it all figured out now." Crowley was hopeful again. He did enjoy their conversations, but this would be okay for now. "Worst promotion ever." Aziraphale nodded again. "Ha!"

Aziraphale was feeling hopeful too, but he did not like pain. That, too, was something he didn't experience very often in the more than six thousand years he'd been on earth. He tugged on Crowley's pajamas and nuzzled his neck, letting out a frustrated sigh. Crowley embraced him tighter, careful of the injury, and patted his back.

"It's alright, angel. I'll nurse you back to health, and then we'll demand that heaven demote you back to a principality."


	4. How to Care for Your Cherub, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tends to Aziraphale's wing.

Crowley knew that cherubim were not actually babies (making assumptions like that would get members of his lot killed). Granted, they tended to be spoiled like them and were naturally clingy to their accompaniment, and they couldn't walk in their weaker form, and they were emotional...

Okay, they were a lot like human babies in certain cases. And Aziraphale even more so with his injury. He wished Aziraphale would have awakened him earlier, but the angel had a big heart and probably wanted to let him rest while he attempted to go about like normal to the best of his ability.

Aziraphale rested his hands on his tummy while Crowley held him in one arm and operated (a newly miracled) bathtub in the other. The demon felt awful hearing the little gurgles in his angel's stomach; he was hungry, but he was also covered in foodstuffs and he wanted to clean and set the injured wing before anything else.

"We'll get you fed soon." He promised. He hoped a good meal after a long sleep would be enough that Aziraphale could return to his human form again. Apparently Aziraphale was so hungry, he'd started sucking on his fingertips as he had the night before. "Angel! No no, please don't get in the habit of that. If you can get hurt, you might be able to get sick." It was a difficult fight getting Warlock not to do it, even into school age.

Aziraphale watched the water with interest when the faucet was shut off, and it felt wonderful to descend into it when Crowley put him inside. The demon was happy to see that Aziraphale could sit up, though the angel would question why he would doubt such a thing. His little wings released their tension, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.

Crowley found it utterly adorable. "See? Nothing a nice bath can't fix." He lathered up a damp washcloth and carefully washed the little cherub, Aziraphale feeling like putty and letting his accompaniment do what he needed to do. His hurt wing stung a little when it was time to clean the dried blood off, but he did his best to be strong. It felt like every bad feeling or sensation he endured brought him to tears.

"Ngk!" Crowley pulled away. Every bad feeling or sensation Aziraphale endured, in turn, put him into a panic. "Angel! I didn't mean to hurt you! Please be okay!" Aziraphale sadly nodded, though Crowley wasn't sure if he was 100% okay. "Almost done! We'll get you dressed and have breakfast! Think of all the yummy things we can have for breakfast. Take your mind off your wing."

Crowley was so thoughtful, Aziraphale let out a soft coo. He had wanted pancakes with real maple syrup and butter. Or maybe muffins. Scones? He'd been so spooked by the mess he made that he forgot his original intentions. Maybe Crowley would help him bake something?

He was so deep in thought, being lifted out of the bath was a shock. He shivered until Crowley wrapped him up in a fluffy green bath towel. "All done, angel." Aziraphale giggled, leaning forward and planting a kiss on Crowley's nose. It was funny watching the demon's face blush in reaction.

Crowley miracled a nappy onto Aziraphale so that he didn't need to lay on his wing, then sat on the bed and settled the cherub in between his crossed legs. He had helped mend much bigger wings before, since not every demon emerged from the Fall unscathed. Cherub wings in their smaller forms were as strong as their bigger beastly wings, but without angelic accompaniment, it seemed they were more fragile.

"I'm going to treat your wing, angel. Won't lie, will probably hurt a lot, but I'll do what I can to be gentle." As Crowley spoke, he truly felt like a monster for what he was about to do. He bent over and kissed the top of Aziraphale's hair, then carefully checked out the damage with long, careful fingers. The wound was still open a little, though clean from soaking in the bath and being washed. "There's a break, but it's a clean break." Much better than being shattered. He wasn't ready to send Aziraphale to heaven for them to fix it in a snap in exchange for his freedom, even though he was free to come and go as he pleased. The objective was to prove they didn't need Heaven.

Aziraphale nodded, looking across the room. There was a mirror on the wall, and he could see himself in Crowley's lap as the demon worked without distraction.

He looked so small and pathetic. What a terrible angel he was, he thought. Cherubim were admired in all forms, it was true, but being unable to fly, he looked like a regular, helpless, human child.

"How's that, angel?" Crowley had bandaged the open wounds and miracled a cast to keep Aziraphale's wing from moving so that it could heal without worsening. The other wing fluttered excitedly, and the cherub clapped his hands together. It was much better, and didn't hurt as much since it was unable to move.

Crowley hugged the little angel closely yet carefully, then lifted him up over his head as he stood from the bed. "You okay like this? Feel like clothes would just make it worse, even if they have wing holes." Aziraphale nodded. It wasn't like anybody was coming to visit, and the less pain, the better. He found himself very sensitive to even the slightest ache. But ironically, having Crowley, a demon, around gave him less reason to despair.

"Haha," Crowley held Aziraphale at his sides, as if the cherub was about to take off on his own. "Look angel, you're flying!"

Additionally, Crowley gave him more reason to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapters. Concerned real life will pull me away soon, so I'm getting out as much writing as I can.


	5. How to Care for Your Cherub, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books and breakfast.

"Oh. Right. Mess."

Crowley and Aziraphale gazed at the kitchen, which still looked like a tornado (or panicked cherub in this case) went through it. There were a lot of broken ceramics and glassware, spilled food, and cookbooks all over the counters and floor. Aziraphale grew sheepish and started to ramble in cherubic apologies, but Crowley had instinctively started to bounce him gently.

"Angel, this was an accident." Crowley said firmly, as he would if he were Nanny Ashtoreth. "When your wing heals, we'll work on your finesse."

The cherub felt relief and picked his head back up, but he also became interested in working on his 'finesse'. In the last day he only found this form to be a hinderance, but Crowley was right. Cherubim were angels, just angels that happened to have tiny forms. The ones in heaven were probably just fine and able to get along no matter what they looked like. He was even told they liked to be small, so maybe there were benefits to being tiny.

Crowley took a moment to place Aziraphale on the floor in the reading room, handing him a book from nearby that had a colorful cover. "Here you go. Have some fun."

"Uhn!" Aziraphale pulled Crowley's attention back to him, and the little angel made a circle with his index fingers and thumbs.

"A ring? Circle? The world?" Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale responded with a rather adorable pout, and pointed to his stomach.

"Of course, angel. I will clean first, then we'll figure out what you want to eat."

Pleased with their plan, Aziraphale looked at the book he'd been given, and smiled. A lovely collection of three fables to enjoy before breakfast; how delightful! He recalled this particular copy was not a first edition and that it was mass marketed reprint, but it had beautiful illustrations and large print. He could overlook the fact that it was made for a child and that it would be a short enough read to get through by the time Crowley finished, unless he miracled some or all of it. He reached to take the edge of the first page to start reading, but gasped as he put a bit too much force on the paper.

He bent the entire introduction page in half. He had never done such a thing to a book in his entire existence. Panic struck again, and Aziraphale smoothed it out, hoping maybe the crease could be worked out later, when he was able to repair--

_Rrrrip._

Aziraphale's eyes grew wider. How could he be so careless?! He couldn't believe himself. His fingers worked just fine, though they were short and pudgy. He could hold things, move his arms, move his head...but he still ruined one of his possessions. He fixed books, and yet let this happen. What if it had been one of his special copies?

Crowley was definitely in mother hen mode by now, and especially so when he heard crying. He was halfway through miracling the messes away and salvaging what he could, but entered the shop area in a flash.

"Angel! What's wrong? Are you hurting?" He was ready to check the cast, but then he saw the book spread across Aziraphale's lap. He wanted to laugh and did his best to keep his lips from contorting into a grin. The angel was having a hard enough time already. "Angel." He pulled the book away and plucked the cherub up off the floor. "You're going to cry yourself dry at this rate." Again, Aziraphale started to express himself, but all Crowley could do was physically try to comfort him. "Just a silly little book, angel, nothing to get in a tizzy over." Aziraphale seemed to take offense, and spouted out more indecipherable words, words spoken louder than before. "I know, I know, you love your books." He sighed, taking him into the kitchen. "I think we should both take a nap after breakfast."

That didn't sit well either. Aziraphale did not feel tired yet! He had just awakened a few hours ago. He couldn't possibly be tired.

"Aziraphale, please calm down. We'll get the book fixed. Please, angel. You've got to relax. I wish I knew what you were saying." Aziraphale sniffled and fussed, only stopping because his injured wing had started to ache from crying out so hard. It shuddered a little, and Crowley delicately stroked it far from the wound site. "Here." Crowley pulled out a chair from the table, which began to change shape into a much taller structure. In place of a normal dining room chair was a gorgeous old-fashioned highchair. He sat Aziraphale inside and secured him safely behind the tray, which he'd added a charming little coiled snake embellishment to in the corner. He wiped Aziraphale's tears away with a handkerchief.

Anxiety rising, Aziraphale's little fingers began moving for his mouth, but this time, Crowley made the first move.

"Nice try, Aziraphale. Give that a go instead."

Aziraphale's fist bumped into a soft plastic soother the demon had miracled in between his lips. He tugged it out and examined it, then angrily babbled some more.

"Angel." Crowley sighed, the cherub shaking his head. He needed to give Aziraphale a distraction. So he mimicked the cherub's hand gestures from earlier, making a circle. "Breakfast? What am I cooking for you, angel?"

Aziraphale was successfully swayed from nibbling on his digits, matching the demon and trying to describe what it was he wanted.

"Angel, I...oh? The body? The bread? Fire bread?" Having picked out a few words he could understand, the angel and demon played charades for a few minutes. "Tortilla chips and salsa? Spicy flatbread? No, wait...toast!" Toast was fired bread! And it was a breakfast food. But Aziraphale shook his head. "Not the right fire bread. What else is fire and bread?"

Aziraphale sighed, slouching in the highchair until his injured wing bumped against the back, causing him to sit straight up again. Thankfully Crowley had miracled a soft cushion behind him.

"Fire bread...fire...bread." His angel had a better idea, beckoning Crowley to come closer. "Angel, I can't decipher more than that. Hm?" Aziraphale pressed his pointer to the surface of the tray, trying to make it look as though he was--

"Oh! Writing. You can write it." He procured a sheet of paper and a crayon. Aziraphale almost let him have it about choosing a crayon, but sighed and decided it was better than nothing, and Crowley wouldn't have understood anyway; that was the point of this.

Holding the green crayon was the hardest part. Once he'd had a satisfactory grip on the utensil, he slowly scrawled out the letters.

"Pancake? Is that what you want?" Crowley smiled when Aziraphale nodded. "Then pancakes you shall have! The very best."

Finally! Even clearer communication had been possible. Aziraphale was so happy. Crowley had never made him breakfast before. He wondered if Crowley made breakfast for Warlock, but then remembered the Dowlings had their own kitchen staff. Either way, he sat quietly and indulged his creative side with the crayon, doodling letters, swirls and shapes in an effort to practice writing and drawing in his smaller form. After all the chaos that morning, it was nice to just exist again at a leisurely pace.

Every so often, Crowley would growl at the pan, then scrape the spatula against it until a charred disc popped out and landed on the counter. Aziraphale paused and tried to crane his neck to look, but it made his wing hurt which caused him to vocalize his pain.

"Almost done, angel! The first are just test runs. Got to get to know your stove."

Oh dear. Aziraphale wished he could provide him tips, like watching for the bubbles to pop and the batter to keep its shape before flipping. He loved baking and cooking the human way, it was much more fulfilling and satisfying knowing you made something yourself than miracling it together.

Crowley finally stepped away from the stove long enough for Aziraphale to see the horrors on the griddle. No wonder his dear boy rarely cooked, he was terrible at it. At least, terrible at pancakes as he just witnessed.

The demon felt awful; he couldn't even make pancakes for his angel.

Aziraphale tried to keep it together. It really wasn't the fact that Crowley had ruined the pancakes that made him upset. It was his stomach; it roared something soft but fierce, and the discomfort combined with his injury was becoming difficult to tolerate. He just needed something to eat, even though Crowley tried so hard.

"Ta-dah!" Crowley held out a gigantic stack of perfect pancakes, topped in syrup, butter and berries. Aziraphale was shocked at first, but then his frown turned upside down. Crowley felt relief to see the cherub giggle and fold his hands. "The very best pancakes, angel." He took Aziraphale's paper away and replaced it with the platter. "Not bad, Aziraphale. Love the duck and...is that me?" Aziraphale nodded as Crowley pointed to the snake doodle.

Both currently unaware that utensils were best for eating pancakes, Aziraphale tugged a sticky, butter lump of pancake off the top and shoved it into his mouth. Wherever Crowley miracled these pancakes from, they were just divine. He was so hungry, he didn't stop pulling pieces off and pushing them into his mouth like a hamster.

"Agh, angel, silverware. Napkins! Maybe a--" He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale was suddenly wearing a baby's bib and Crowley had a damp towel and a set of cutlery in his hands. "Let's just...there we go. Thought you weren't the messy type."

Aziraphale wanted to tell him that real hunger made an angel do strange things, but his appearance suggested otherwise. It was hard for Crowley not to baby him.

"Let me help." Crowley speared the pancakes with the fork and cut them into tiny squares and triangles. He almost asked if the angel wanted him to feed him, but there was something so cute about watching him pop the pieces into his mouth on his own. Spoon fed or not, there would be more cleanup afterwards. "Glad you like it, angel." He crossed his arms and stood there proudly; he'd washed and fed his angel, plus he set his broken wing and cleaned the kitchen, save for the pancake batter charred onto the pan. They may have gotten off to a rough start, but he felt he'd done a practically perfect job so far, like that nanny in the movie.


	6. How to Care for Your Cherub, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A book of rhymes (as told by Anthony J. Crowley) that inspires a plan of action.

" _Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle. The cow jumped over the moon_...would've liked t'see that. _The little dog laughed to see such a sport_...I'd probably be laughing too. _And the dish ran away with the spoon._ Don't blame'em, the whole bull in a china shop bit."

Aziraphale giggled and chuckled the entire time. Anthony J. Crowley could turn most any story into a stand-up comedy show, at least with children's books. The demon always did like funny stories over other genres, the angel thought as he recalled watching rehearsals of Hamlet with him at The Globe.

"Well, that was another quick read." Crowley added to the climbing pile of books they'd already finished. "Which one next? Fairy tales? Rhymes? The Little Engine That Could? Grumpy Cat?"

Aziraphale looked thoughtful, but also tired. The cherub stretched and let out a big yawn before looking over the other pile of stories to be read. He really wanted to read more, for the joy of it but also to hear Crowley's humorous spin on things, but it was becoming a challenge to keep his eyes open.

"Angel?" Crowley gently patted his shoulder. "Angel, which book?" He'd watched the cherub point earlier, so he knew Aziraphale was capable of making a conscious choice. Instead, he was answered with a drowsy whimper. "Angel, y'just woke up, you can't possibly be tired. You got food, slept all night. Thought maybe by now you could try changing back."

Aziraphale looked up at him like he was a crazy person. He, in no way, felt strong enough to change shape. Even a small miracle seemed impossible. He almost leaned against Crowley, but the hurt wing made him sit up abruptly once more. Fatigue with pain made for another awful combination.

"You've been hanging around me too much, angel." Crowley joked, but turned the cherub in his lap and reclined back in the big comfortable chair they'd sat in. He laid Aziraphale over his chest and nuzzled his hair. "If you want to laze about, I'm completely fine with that."

Aziraphale let out a soft sound of amusement, fisting Crowley's shirt in both hands and watching the shop for as long as he could as his eyes began to close. He did like having Crowley's undivided attention, but angelic conditioning made him feel awful about it. So much sleep. It could be considered gluttony or sloth. But he couldn't help it. He, too, thought he would feel more energetic.

_"Go to sleep, and dream of pain, doom and darkness, blood and brains..."_

Okay, that was _not_ comforting in the slightest. Aziraphale picked his head up and glared at Crowley. Where on earth did he come up with a song like that? He tugged on Crowley's shirt for added emphasis.

"Sorry, sorry. Y'just looked so cute and sleepy and all." More misunderstanding.

Well, no lullaby was better than whatever that twisted concoction was. But even better than a lullaby was Crowley's hand gently and carefully rubbing and patting his back. That always felt nice, and being aware of it, he realized the demon had been doing it a lot that morning. Whenever Aziraphale felt worried or anxious in his arms, the backrubs returned.

"Angel, it's fine if you can't. You can sleep." Crowley urged. "Nothing's happening. We're stuck for a while. Might as well just lay low."

Crowley was right, but he didn't want to lay low forever either. Eventually they needed to take some course of action. If there was no faster solution, he hoped that time and the natural healing of his corporation with ample food and rest would heal his wing. That was his biggest worry. He needed to fly and hover to be of any use, he was certain.

While one hand steadied and comforted Aziraphale, Crowley's free hand swiped through the air, the force knocking the needle of Aziraphale's gramophone onto a record already set in place. Soft piano replaced the uneasy silence.

"Berceuse, huh? Convenient." He murmured softly. He reached behind the chair and carefully draped a blanket around both of them, leaving the hurt wing uncovered. He turned his head to kiss Aziraphale's forehead ever so gently, the angel's stillness letting him know that he'd just fallen asleep.

He could have joined Aziraphale in slumber, but there was a lot on his mind. Aziraphale was still unable to return to normal. He'd slept and eaten a rather large serving of food, but it wasn't enough. Having a hurt wing didn't help either; Aziraphale was an accident waiting to happen if he was unsupervised. Were all the cherubim like this? He thought of Gabriel again and frowned deeply. 

It was kind of nice, though. Nice to be needed in such an intimate way. He liked having a warm angel in his lap, big or small. He gave the room a once over, two serpentine eyes falling on a Mother Goose collection with a bright emerald green cover and distinctive lettering. It looked an awful lot like another book he'd seen recently.

"...That's it." Crowley almost shot out of the chair, but sunk back and gently pat Aziraphale. "Book girl. She's got that...book. Anna, Ashley, Agatha...Agnes! The Agnes Nutter book!" It saved their hides once, maybe it could again. Maybe there was another clue inside that they could use.

After the cherub's late morning nap and a nappy change, Crowley and Aziraphale had more paper and crayons spread out on the floor for another round of conversational Pictionary, for lack of a better term. A lunch consisting of a sippy cup full of chocolate milk and easy-to-eat finger sandwiches and crisps sat between them and their assortment of artwork, Aziraphale munching away as they 'talked'.

After Crowley explained his idea, the next pressing subject was getting a hold of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, which belonged to the witch they 'bumped' into that one fateful night shortly before Armageddon. "So yeah, book girl. You remember book girl, right?" Crowley looked hopeful, and Aziraphale confirmed. "Yes! You do. Perfect. What is her name again?"

Aziraphale looked at his demon like he was crazy, but then recalled that Crowley only remembered details that he himself felt were important. He took a blue crayon and slowly wrote out each letter of the witch's first name; he didn't recall ever hearing her last. Doodling didn't take long, but writing letters legibly and large enough to be read required care on his part.

"...Anathema. Anathema! Perhaps there's a stray hair of hers in the Bentley."

Aziraphale noticeably twitched at the mention of the car, but relaxed immediately. They didn't need to ride in the car; Crowley just needed to take a peek inside of it and check for a trace of her essence, use it as a focus, and go directly to her with Crowley's demon magic.

"...Damn it, no, that won't work." Crowley growled, startling Aziraphale again. He wouldn't have minded it much hadn't it been for his wing being in sorry shape; it ached with every move. "It was incinerated before Adam restored everything back to normal."

Aziraphale drew a checkmark on the page, trying to use shorthand symbols to reiterate the idea of checking the car; they didn't know how Adam's magic worked in terms of restoring things. Yes, Aziraphale had all of his books (and then some) back to normal after Adam disowned his true father, but he never paid attention to little things such as the amount of dust on something, or if a book still had a stain or page bent in the corner.

"Checkmark? Right. Check it off, we won't find evidence in the Bentley."

Aziraphale pouted and lowered his brow. He was frustrated, but Crowley found that he was also cute when he was frustrated, and plucked the cherub up off the floor. "Oh, wait. I know what you're getting at, angel."

He did? Oh, Aziraphale was pleased. He nodded and clapped his hands together.

"You're saying we should just go to her house!"

Go see her? That was a perfectly brilliant idea. He recalled the cottage she had been dropped off at after they'd collided into each other that fateful night. She would remember them, he was certain! They could check the book for any overlooked prophecies that might help them see what was to come, or even just a cleverly composed hint as to how to get Aziraphale back to normal. It had saved their lives once before, and maybe it would again.

"Yes! Come on, angel. We'll go to Tadfield and get the witch to help."

Aziraphale was behind the plan at first. He would try anything to be able to fly again. To have his independence and energy back would be a boon. And Crowley wouldn't have to baby him...though a small part of him enjoyed the closeness and platonic intimacy of it.

Crowley went back into Nanny Mode to pack a bag for his angel, filled with snacks, two sippy cups of water, and changing supplies just in case. From there, he got even more into it. What if Aziraphale got cold? What if Aziraphale got bored? What if he became grumpy? Soothers, blankets, and other objects were added. Better safe than sorry, he figured.

The cherub had been blissfully unaware, left to finish his lunch and continue doodling. He'd been scribbling a shape that looked like the Bentley. But it wasn't until Crowley scooped him up from the floor that he realized exactly what he'd agreed to.

"We're all set, angel. We're going to have a nice ride in the car. Won't that be fun?"

_A nice ride._

_In the car._

...Fuck.


	7. A Trip to Tadfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanny Ashtoreth and Aziraphale head for Jasmine Cottage.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Crowley cooed, his blanket covered bundle crying harder than ever before as they left and locked up the bookshop. "Why the tears? We're going to see book girl!"

Aziraphale was not riding in the car with Crowley, no matter how much his accompaniment tried to make it sound fun and exciting. Crowley was a literal speed demon. Granted he'd never got into an accident while he was present, but he did not like the experience as a principality, and had a notion it would be even worse as a cherub. He wanted to tell him about how humans his size got car sick, and he didn't not want to be the one ruining the seats of the Bentley.

Speaking of humans his size, he had tried to play the part of one to attract attention, hoping in some way they would see how cute and pathetic he was and that he should not be allowed to ride in the car. Human passers-by did look in their direction briefly, but for the most part, a crying child was part of the norm. So was taking a crying child on a trip in the car. There were two crying babies nearby too, so nobody was going to think that the angel's life was endangered.

Crowley opened the door, and as the demon expected, there was a child's car seat conveniently set up in the back. The tote bag was set on the passenger side, and Crowley carefully set Aziraphale inside.

Aziraphale thought he couldn't scream louder, but indeed he could. The cherub winced, his hurt wing pressing against the back of the seat. It didn't matter how soft the cushion was; it wasn't pillowy enough.

"Shoot. forgot about that." Crowley muttered, taking Aziraphale right back out and comforting him during a fresh set of tears. The angel had won that round; there would be no excessive speeding to potentially discorporate the two of them. And Crowley had realized that not only would the wing press against the seat, but the road would not be smooth, and it would be repeatedly crushed. Being unable to sit comfortably in the car became a new problem, but only for about a minute. 

Crowley watched a large red bus pull up to the sidewalk nearby and stop, its hissing brakes alerting passengers to exit or climb aboard.

"Yes, that's it! Angel, look!"

They were going to take the bus to Tadfield. The bus they boarded didn't normally travel there, but a little demonic influence added the route discreetly. Aziraphale also noticed that, at some point after getting ahold of himself, Crowley had made a few visual demonic influences to his wardrobe too. Rather, she, now. Her beautiful red hair was done up in a bun, and her smile showed off her favorite shade of purple lipstick. Her outfit consisted of a turtleneck sweater underneath a dark grey blazer with matching knee-length skirt, and some chunky jewelry completed the look. The tote bag had turned into a baby bag that had a fashionable red and dark grey color scheme as well. She took a seat in the back away from prying eyes, and any that tried would be on the receiving end of her glare, which was effective even behind dark sunglasses.

Aziraphale smiled approvingly, and she smiled back at him, gently poking his little nose.

"Your first bus ride with Nanny, how fun."

The cherub blushed a little. Crowley was really getting into character, but he figured it would help draw attention away if they looked more like a mother or nanny with child.

As the bus began to move, Aziraphale sat quietly in her arms and laid his head against her shoulder, watching out the window as the bus rumble through town, and eventually into the countryside once the other passengers had gotten off. Crowley was so thoughtful; riding the bus, nothing touched his wing, and he could stay upright. The added bonus was a safely paced ride as well.

" _Blow the wind, blow. Swift and low_..." Ashtoreth sang, and any and all children on the bus, Aziraphale included, found themselves on the verge of sleep or simply calm and agreeable until they left the bus with their parents. The snake demon was, herself, the charmer and not the other way around. Aziraphale was thankful she'd chosen something other than what she'd tried earlier to pass off as a lullaby.

Astoreth watched out the window too, soothing fingertips running along Aziraphale's back and occasionally combing through his hair. She wasn't sure what to do if this didn't work out in their favor. Relying on humans for help was never fullproof. She couldn't take him to hell, and heaven wouldn't have him. She really hated the idea of sending Aziraphale with Gabriel back to heaven just for his wing to be restored.

Conveniently, there was a bus stop for another transportation line not too far from Jasmine Cottage, where the bus stopped and they got off. Aziraphale was still asleep, so she miracled a pram from the tote bag, pulling it out like Mary Poppins had done with her coat rack. After unfolding it with a simple shake and the metal joints latching into place, she placed it onto the ground and laid Aziraphale inside on his side. It would be a bit of a bumpy walk, but only Crowley could make a baby carriage resistant to bumps and jumps.

She remembered the way pretty clearly, and having the sun out helped too. It gave her more time to watch and admire Aziraphale's adorable sleeping form. The two blended flawlessly into the bustling neighborhood, as there were families outdoors enjoying the gorgeous weather and people performing their jobs: electricians working on power lines, dog walkers taming excitable canines down the sidewalks, and even an ice cream truck stopped in a cul de sac to offer treats to children. 

Four of the children in the small gathering walked away from said ice cream truck with fruit-flavored ice lollies, the boy in lead with shaggy brown hair and accompanied by a small, white dog with patches of black fur on a leash. It was this child who realized something strange had entered their quaint little village, and the dog as well.

"If you keep standing there, the ice cream truck's gonna run you over when he's done." Pepper teased Adam.

"You feel that? Wait, no. You wouldn't." The Antichrist muttered disappointedly.

"Feel what?" Brian asked, already dealing with a messy, melty ice pop.

"...Nevermind. Come on, we'd better get to the cottage before she wonders where we are."

"We promised to help her unpack her things from America, right?"

"Yep. It'll be fun. She told me she has a lot more neat books on witchcraft and the sort."

~~~

Walking to the cottage was a bit different than driving to it, but eventually Ashtoreth arrived at the gate. She spotted (and scoffed at) a three-wheeled blue car parked within, so she assumed at least someone would be present.

It took little to discreetly unlatch the lock, and the gate opened slowly with a soft whine. But as soon as she bagan to push Aziraphale's carriage beyond the perimeter, she was stopped by a familiar group of faces.

"Who're you?" Adam asked without hesitation, stepping forward. "You Anathema's mom or something? Or Newt's?"

Ashtoreth turned and held her index finger to her lips, hushing them harshly. "Do not wake him." He hissed, and the children took a step back in surprise.

"It's you! From the airfield!" Pepper pointed.

"Ahem!"

"Why are you here?" Adam asked in a softer tone. "Did Anathema ask you to help too?"

"Help her? We need -her- help."

"Is Anathema going to babysit your kid?"

The Them clamored around the baby carriage, gasping at the winged being resting inside.

"It's a baby with wings!"

"Babies don't have wings!"

"Hush!" Ashtoreth hissed.

"What's going on?" Anathema sensed the commotion outside, having been in the kitchen by the window, and left the cottage to investigate the strange woman in her yard. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"

"You can!" Crowley turned, and the witch took a step back in surprise.

"You're the one who hit me on my bike...and then you were at the airfield helping Adam with your friend."

"Sssshhh! Not so loud." She gestured to the pram.

"I didn't know you had a son."

"No, this is Aziraphale. My friend." Truthfully, much more than a friend, but she just wanted Aziraphale to be able to sleep while he tried to get help.

"You're friends with a baby?" Pepper arched a brow.

"No, he's a cherubim."

"Oh, like a Cupid. Where are his quiver and arrows?" Brian peeked inside.

"That's not how it works. He's part of a powerful hierarchy of angels now."

"Doesn't look very powerful to me." Wensleydale took a look too.

"Well, he's injured. You!" She pointed to Anathema. "I need your help to heal him. You're a witch, surely you know some supernatural means of helping him. I gave you back that book! There must be something in there about this."

Anathema looked inside the stroller and saw the injured wing. Despite Crowley's best care, it still looked very red and painful. "Poor thing." she reached in carefully to brush the angel's blonde curls; even in slumber, he looked uncomfortable. "Off the top of my head, no, I don't know, and there's nothing about this in the previous prophecies."

Ashtoreth looked ready to storm off with Aziraphale, but Anathema recalled what she had asked The Them to come help her with. "Wait...if you can help these guys unpack my things from California, I may have a book that could help."

Newt had finally emerged from the house to gather help, but before he could backpedal and inch away from the strange visitor, Anathema called him to attention.

"Newt? Could you clear off the bed?"

"The bed? Why?"

"We have friends visiting." She looked back to Ashtoreth. "This little one isn't well and needs a comfortable place to sleep for now. Upstairs it will be quieter." Ashtoreth didn't verbally express it, but she could sense her gratitude. She'd seen the demon at his worse on the airbase when Satan came to confront Adam, and knew the two were very close. 

"They're going to help with the boxes?"

"The name is Anthony J. Crowley. Just Crowley is fine. That's Aziraphale. And I'm not doing it dressed like this." In the blink of an eye, the nanny was a snakey, lanky man once again wearing his ensemble from earlier, and followed the group inside the house. The Them were still curious of Aziraphale, up until Newt hesitantly pulled the angel out of the pram with the same amount of fear a mouse would have taking bait from a spring-loaded trap. Crowley kept his eye trained on the human man until he'd had the cherub in an acceptable hold.

"Most everything can go in the basement for now, I've opened the back door to make things faster. What do you guys like on your pizza?"

"Pepperoni!"

"Sausage!"

"Mushrooms!"

"Extra cheese!"

"What about you?" Anathema asked the demon, testing a nervous smile. "Do you eat pizza?"

"That all is fine." He answered warily, picking up a very heavy box with ease.

"...You're helping, you get a say."

"It's fine." Crowley reiterated. "This one in the basement too?"

"Yes." Crowley set to work, the witch watching him while Newton joined her.

"I barricaded him with pillows. Kept the hurt wing uncovered..." He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, but Anathema was reassuring.

"I'm sure they appreciate it."

"I thought we'd be done with the crazy stuff." The witchfinder murmured to himself as he joined the others with the boxes and bags.

Anathema said nothing, recalling the package they'd received some time ago. She felt better no longer being a descendent, but with what just happened, she'd wondered if her ancestor had written a warning about their supernatural guests.


	8. Pizza and Prophecies

The smell of pizza, breadsticks, and chicken wings filled Jasmine Cottage quickly once the delivery man left the house, including the upstairs bedroom where Aziraphale had been resting peacefully. Anathema's comforter combined with their pillows and his blanket from Crowley were so cozy, he finally began to understand why Crowley enjoyed sleep. But he loved food too, even before the promotion, and it had been quite some time since he'd eaten pizza (and quite some time since lunch). A delicious margherita flatbread with a glass of red wine...how lovely would that be?

His stomach chimed in, casting its vote for food with a growl. He needed to eat to keep up his energy, which was hopefully helping his wing to heal. A subtle twitch reminded him that it was still broken and still quite painful, a sharp sting of discomfort surging through the limb. The piercing pinches put tears in his eyes.

He was also reminded of how weak he was, despite now being in the 2nd highest group of angels. Very powerful angels. The other cherubim probably knew nothing about the discomfort he was experiencing. They would surely laugh it off. The more he thought about it, the more he didn't want to meet them. They were probably as cruel as Gabriel.

Lost in his head, he was blissfully unaware of his surroundings until he heard the laughter of children. His eyes opened wider, and his surroundings became more obvious. He was in a stranger's room with the lights out, though the last remnants of daylight through the window helped him see. Were they at Jasmine Cottage? They had to be. But Crowley was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was researching things. He felt bad calling out to him to pull him away from whatever he was doing, but he needed a meal.

In the kitchen, a single slice of pizza with extra cheese sat on Crowley's plate while everyone else devoured the pies and sides. He might have eaten were he in better spirits. Really, he just wanted to crack open the books and get to work.

"Hey Mr. Crowley." Wensleydale spoke up. "I think your friend is crying."

The boy needed to say nothing more, and the demon was already closing the distance between himself and his angel. Anathema got up and followed. When she reached the doorway, she leaned in it quietly and smiled at the sight before her. A dark, dangerous demon sat there. A dark, dangerous demon being so careful and gentle with a tiny angel.

"It's alright, angel. You're safe. Relax. I will let nothing bring you harm."

"Do you need any help?"

Spooked by the extra presence, Crowley was ready to turn and hiss at her, but Aziraphale tugged on his scarf.

"...I know he needs something more than whatever we probably have, but--"

"A knife." Crowley requested. "...And my plate of food."

That made more sense than just a blade, and she disappeared without a word.

Aziraphale tugged on the fabric again, and Crowley softened once more.

"Oh, angel. Y'like pizza? This one's loaded with cheese. Smells wonderful, think you'll enjoy it."

Anathema returned with the requested items, and she sat in a chair across the room while Crowley cut square-shaped bites of pizza for Aziraphale to pop into his mouth. Every so often the cherub would take some water from the sippy cup to wash it all down.

"...Would you like some juice, Aziraphale?" She asked, the angel perking up. "I have apple and grape."

Aziraphale would have politely declined, but Crowley spoke for him. "Which one, angel?" Crowley held out his hands. "Apple," he shook the left. "or grape?" Then the other. Aziraphale placed his greasy hand on Crowley's right. "Grape, he says."

"Sure." It was so easy to forget that there was a six thousand year old being inside the toddler-shaped corporation. But she knew for sure their otherworldly ally was still conscious, and in need of help.

When they were both ready to leave the room, Aziraphale sheepishly pulled on Crowley's jacket, wishing he could hide himself from whoever had joined them for dinner downstairs. 

"S'alright, angel. Old friends." Crowley couldn't believe he was saying that, but it was true. Good, trustworthy humans. "Y'know Adam and book girl. Er, Anathema. That's Brian, Pepper, Wensleydale, Newton." Aziraphale waved and smiled. Proper introductions always felt good. To him, it made their alliance official.

Crowley was left to explain the last twenty-four hours to the group, which led into smaller discussions about what happened to them after Adam had disowned his father and restored everything back to normal (for the most part). Even though Aziraphale couldn't add to the conversation, he enjoyed listening to the 'heroic' retelling his demon concocted. He did tug on Crowley's sleeve when he started to turn the story into a tall tale, which helped ground the demon.

"Don't you normally get to choose if you accept a promotion?" Anathema asked.

"Well, admittedly, a promotion is almost always a good thing. At least for humans." Newt added.

"That's an awful promotion if you ask me." Adam frowned. He saw no need to dance around it when there was clearly nothing beneficial about it under the current circumstances. "It sounds like you don't even get to do anything. It's boring."

"Indeed. And Aziraphale can't change back or even speak common to me because all of his energy is going towards his wing, and it's doing a piss poor job of healing it. Cherubim, heh, masterful tricksters in this form. They're agile and fast. They can also be," Crowley raised his arms and tried to express just how large they were in true form, "big, big buggers. Bigger than cars. Fills a room, his whole bookshop."

"I'd want to see that." Brian was suddenly interested.

"Well, it's not going to be tonight, if at all. You all should think about returning home." Anathema nodded towards a clock on the wall, silent disappointment on the children's faces.

The Them had to leave to make it home by their parents' requested curfew, leaving the two supernatural beings with the owners of Jasmine Cottage for the evening. They'd ventured into the basement and began to open all the boxes marked 'Books' or anything related to the study of the supernatural and witchcraft. 

Aziraphale sat on a cushion on the floor and tried to be patient, but after an hour he could only slouch and pout. Feelings of worthlessness hit him again. He turned his head and tried to look at his injured wing. Had it improved any? He couldn't see it, but he could always feel it.

Newt had been watching the cherub in the corner of his eye, trying not to stare too much. He was quite capable of helping pull books out of boxes, but that was about it. So instead of asking about each item individually, he took out his final stack of tomes and placed them by Anathema.

"Er, I was thinking: why don't I take Aziraphale upstairs?" He offered.

Anathema, deep in hunting through her things, finally looked over at him, and then at Aziraphale. "...That sounds like a good idea. If it's fine with him."

Crowley was quick to rouse, but after a moment he realized sitting in the basement probably wasn't the best thing for his angel. "You want to go upstairs, angel? I'll let you know the moment we find something."

Aziraphale gave a nod, and reached up towards the witchfinder to be plucked from the floor.

The witchfinder felt relief that the cherub accepted his olive branch. "Sure we can find something better to do to pass the time." Newt smiled.


End file.
